


spar with me

by writeforyou



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Kissing, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:31:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeforyou/pseuds/writeforyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Dragon Age Kink Meme Prompt:</p><p>Warrior!Inquisitor spars with her love interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	spar with me

 

Her limbs ached, but Gabrielle pushed through it. The harshness of the work out wasn’t exactly helping, not really, because the anger was still thumping through her. Sometimes she would stop to breathe, think perhaps it was out of her system, and then it would all coming rushing back; she would grit her teeth and just keep battering at the dummies used for sword practise. They didn’t fight back. Just took it. She liked that.

She didn’t want to act like this, feeling so out of control. Like the girl that her aunt had always said she was, because she wasn’t. She was strong and tough and brave and just as good as any of her brothers. But she was just so angry, at Templers, at Seekers, at – fuck, everyone who gave up what they stood for. She had been trapped by a demon, attacked by men who were supposed to protect and defend rather than follow and destroy, members of her party had been injured. And for what, a handful of new recruits that could actually handle a weapon?

One of the arms hang off haphazardly and Gabrielle took great pleasure in hacking until the fake limb dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. She stopped, leant forward on bent knees. Closed her eyes and breathed.

“Good work out, my lady?”

Of course, of all the people, when she wasn’t fit for company, he would show up. She sighed, straightened her back and turned towards him. Blackwall stood a little way a ways, but his gaze lingered heavily upon her, his eyebrows furrowed with concern and lips pressed into a frown. Her nerves set in automatically, a habit at this point, and Gabrielle had to look away from him, hoped the flush looked just like a consequence of exertion rather than anything else.

“Not exactly,” she answered honestly, and adjusted her grip on her sword. “Do you need me for something?”

“If there is something, I wouldn’t be the one to find you,” Blackwall reminded her, and she inclined her head in agreement. He took steps closer, Gabrielle could hear them, “I was just wondering how you were fairing.”

She had to reach out to hit something, “Fine.”

“Excuse me if I don’t seem convinced,” Blackwall sounded almost amused, and she felt his presence over her shoulder.

She swallowed nervously and hit again. “Oh.”

“And I don’t think the dummies appreciate it too much either,” he added.

“They can be fixed.”

“But you won’t if you strain yourself,” Blackwall chided her – chided, and she felt like a child again – reaching out and wrapping one hand around her own. It was too hot, burning even.

“I need to get it out of my system,” Gabrielle muttered.

He touched her cheek and her breath caught, startled and her eyes darted upwards to meet his. He was still frowning, but his eyes were light, filled with – she didn’t know, perhaps she was imagining. She had to be imagining. He watched her for too long, enough for her to be so close to losing her uphill struggle about leaning into the curve of his palm, before he finally dropped his hand, leaving everything too cold in his wake.

“Perhaps sparring will help,” he offered, stepped away from her and rested a hand on the weapon that he had holstered at his side.

Gabrielle gave him a confused look. “Sparring? Did you not see the mess I made of the dummy?”

He smirked, cocky and self-assured. “I assure you, my lady, I am a lot harder to defeat than the dummy.”

Oh definitely, the leering part of her mind agreed. But for some reason, the words, although they held no heat, nothing mocking or insulting, she still felt like she had something to prove. Gabrielle was never one to back down from a challenge. So she smiled back, adjusted her stance and held out her sword in gesture for Blackwall to do the same. He mimicked her position, and slide his sword along hers, the metal scraping against each other.

“Rules?”

“First to three hits,” she offered.

He frowned. “My lady, I wouldn’t want to hurt-“

“Oh don’t worry,” she interrupted pointedly to assure, “You won’t.”

Gabrielle made the first move. She preferred it that way, after spending so long waiting, always waiting, never so forward, never so direct. She wasn’t expecting it to be easy, not even to take the man by surprise, but she found herself inexplicitly pleased when his movement was instinctive rather than planned, and that he looked at her with something akin to being impressed.

She wanted to impress him more than she cared to admit. She refused to think about that now. It wouldn’t do. Her emotions might fall through her fingers when Blackwall is around, her stomach doing flips and her libido completely lose composure, but that didn’t mean that she was going to let him win. Her pride, she felt, was far more important than his. After all, no matter how much she wanted the man, if he couldn’t accept defeat at her hands, he could never be anything more to her. She wouldn’t stoop.

When she had first learnt to fight, it had been part of the deal that her mother had made with her to make sure she actually attended her studies. Gabrielle had jumped at the chance – threw herself into it with eagerness. Her instructor was a hardened man that found more comfort in female battle armour and had given Gabrielle her first scars. He never minced his words, never went gentle on her because of who she was, in name or gender. Despite the fact that for days afterwards her muscles ached and her bandage covered arms had sent her aunt gasping and scolding and praying to the Maker, Gabrielle had enjoyed every moment. Even more so, the moment when she managed to pin her brother. She would never forget the look on his face. Or the chocolate cake that her father demanded the cook prepare for her. That had been a day.

Blackwall blocked her attack just like her brother did, and she retaliated in kind. This was all instinct by now. A dance that she could actually do. She felt each blow against her sword in her arm, a pleasant ache that made her grin wildly. Blackwall laughed joyfully when he dodged a blow, and his smile stretched. It was strange, he didn’t smile enough. He should.

Gabrielle shook the thought from her head and almost found herself cornered. He wriggled his eyebrows teasingly, and she grit her teeth like the physical action would creator a barrier to distract her if just for a moment. She adjusted her footing and moved forward with the assault. It was almost too easy to tap the flat of her sword against his stomach.

“One,” she mocked, and grinned triumphantly.

Blackwall nodded with approval, nodded his head towards her in a respectable bow, and then the second round began.

He upped his game, she knew it, felt it in the harshness of his strokes, and wasn’t surprised when she was tapped against the back of calf.

“Two,” he counted. Gabrielle nodded begrudgingly.

The third was the harshest. She used all her weight, all her strength. Her height was often an advantage in all combat situations, and she used it as best she could. Pressed down and loomed. Made Blackwall bend. He moved to offense, feet sliding through the gravelled flooring, sword almost too close to his face when he blocked her attack.

“You don’t leave your right open anymore,” he commented impressed.

Gabrielle beamed at him. She remembered his words from one of their first battles. She’d been hit by Venatori, and he had roughly informed her of her mistake. He had fluttered around her injury like a mother hen. It hadn’t been that bad, stung a little when she moved, and assured him of that. She had never seen a man snap so viciously, concern dripping from his voice. She had let him take care of her wound, if only to stop him hovering. And there was always the upside of getting his hands on her. She had definitely liked that.

“I didn’t want to cause you any more worry,” Gabrielle informed him, only a half truth.

His smile softened, almost sad at the edges. It surprised her, and her grip slipped for half a second. “I always worry about you, my lady.”

She swallowed around a nerve induced lump in her throat. “Do you really?”

“Of course, I…” he faltered, “No, my apologies, that was inappropriate of me to say.”

“No, not at all,” Gabrielle said hurriedly. He looked at her with too much understanding, and her ears burnt with embarrassment. “I mean, I…It’s not, I’m okay with you saying that…kind of thing.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he told her, voice too low. She thought maybe she wasn’t supposed to hear it. But she didn’t get to ask about it.

The fight continued too suddenly, and she found herself pinned under the brunt of a sword. She felt bruised and angry, a moment of weakness, her own emotions used against her. She was violent in the way that she kicked out, locked one leg around the Warden’s to knock him off his balance.  He fell, couldn’t stop himself, and she rolled, placed herself firmly on top of him, an added weight when his back cracked. He groaned, the noise cut off by the insistent press against of metal against his jugular.

“Three,” she spat out, eyebrows furrowed and chest heaving.

Blackwall’s eyes darted between her and the blade, and back again. “I concede, and gladly, my lady.”

“Good,” she nodded approvingly, and let her sword fall away. It clattered heavy against the ground, and she breathed.

She was still upon him. She knew that. She should get off, could just hear her mother scolding her for just how improper this all was, but she ignored the words. It kept him down, kept him vulnerable. He watched her with barely veiled desire, and it warmed her.

But it was anger that had her warning him, “Never use my feelings for you against me.”

“Perhaps that’s the kind of man I am,” he told her.

“Perhaps,” Gabrielle commented, “But I don’t believe that.”

His expression was pained. “My lady, I am not strong enough to keep myself away from you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she whispered back, curved her back when she bent forward to hover over him, bracing one hand beside his head.

Blackwall swallowed noticeably. His hands gripped her hips, confident and strong and no stranger to these situations. Perhaps that turned her on a little more than it should. His voice was gruff when he warned her, “You should. I am not worthy of a woman like you. You have no idea.”

Gabrielle held up a hand to silence him. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”

And then she kissed him. He froze for a second in surprise, and she clenched her eyes shut, determined. Her hands cupped his cheeks, slide through the thickness of his beard and just held on, like if her grip was good enough then he wouldn’t push her away. Maybe that was why he didn’t. She felt him relax under her in an instant, felt his lips part with a shaky breath beneath hers and his fingers flex, pushing against her chainmail. Gabrielle didn’t care that they were out in the open, that anyone could walk past and see them embracing far more intimately than she knew she should. She could worry about that later, was sure that Josephine would explain to her the ins and outs of why discretion was advisable, but for the moment, she was at home, she was safe. And goddamn it, Blackwall was really good at kissing.

It ended sooner than she wanted to, felt him pull away and she tried to follow. He laughed a little breathlessly, and she opened her eyes to give him a sheepish look. One hand reached up to press through her curls, stroked affectionately.

“Are you sure?” he questioned, “Of all people…”

“There’s no one else,” Gabrielle assured and there wasn’t. She had been too enamoured to see past his figure.

His eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you,” he started.

“Blackwall, I don’t-“she started, but he shushed her with a kiss.

“Please, for once Elle, let me finish,” Blackwall teased tiredly. She pressed her lips together pointedly and waited. He started his sentence again, repeated the words slowly, “I can’t promise that I won’t hurt you. But I will do everything in my power to make sure that me, nor anyone else, ever does.”

“I can look after myself,” Gabrielle reminded him, irked by the idea that was incapable of doing so.

Blackwall chuckled. “I do not doubt that. But it’s good to have someone at your back, don’t you believe so my lady?”

“If that someone is you?” She hummed, made a show of considering before, “I think I can live with that.”

He kissed her this time, passionate and wet and deep enough that it left her shaking from too much. Too much and not enough. She was certain that she would never have enough, not of this, not of Blackwall. Maker preserve her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos welcomed!
> 
> i have tumblr: [caadash](http://gladers.co.vu/)


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